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“Again,Bruno will be with me.”
Two of the men on my potential husband list live in the city. I didn’t choose them because my father already has strongconnections here. New York is covered. The Cavallaros and O’Connors promised to have his back and refuse any business dealings with the Lombardis.
I chose a man who lives in Chicago, but I need to meet him before committing to marriage. A man can easily manipulate his reputation on paper and online.
I hug Natalia goodbye, kiss her belly, and Bruno and I drive off toward Chicago. He rolls his eyes when I turn on Taylor Swift, and when he takes a phone call, my mind drifts to Antonio. Sadness rips through me, and I gulp at the realization he’ll never be my husband.
That thought was only wishful thinking by a naive me.
The dark princess foolishly believed she’d get a sparkly fairy tale.
Maybe Antonio isn’t my destiny.
Maybe the love of my life is waiting for me in Chicago.
When I meet Elijah Becker in the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, my stomach is a roller coaster.
“Gigi Marchetti.” Elijah says my name like a well-rehearsed poem written on his lips, like I already mean everything to him.
As if he’s already decided I’m his future.
Bruno stands a few feet away from me, giving us some privacy. As a show of respect, Elijah nods toward him.
Bruno watching us feels strange.
Like an overprotective brother chaperoning my first date.
Elijah grabs my hand and brushes his lips against it. His hand has the perfect balance of tenderness yet roughness.
I should be blushing.
Swooning at the romantic gesture.
But I can’t stop comparing his lips on my skin to Antonio’s.
The first time Antonio touched me, it wasn’t gentle.
It was menacing.
With one touch, Antonio burned my skin, branding himself on me. Sometimes, I still feel the heat on every inch where he put his hands and mouth on me. Antonio will always be an invisible mark on my skin. A secret flame that only I’ll ever feel and see.
Elijah’s touch barely ignites a spark inside me.
Give it time, Gigi.
Get to know him.
Not all loves are instant. Some gradually unfold.
Elijah clasps our hands and leads me outside while Bruno follows us. The wind brushes my cheeks as he guides me toward a black Rolls-Royce Phantom. Bruno takes the front passenger seat, and Elijah joins me in the back. He slides close, his thigh brushing mine, and I inhale the strong scent of his cologne. He smells expensive, manly, meh.
Antonio’s cologne smells sexier.
Dammit.
Will I always compare any man to the first one who broke my heart?
“You look beautiful,” Elijah says, interrupting my thoughts.
